


after bloodied fists

by claymorejunkie



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Animal Death, Blood, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:01:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29793681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claymorejunkie/pseuds/claymorejunkie
Summary: TommyInnit was slain by DreamThat message resonates throughout the server, and it doesn't stop.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 144
Collections: Completed stories I've read





	after bloodied fists

TommyInnit was slain by Dream

Sam looks down at his communicator, buzzing at him. He sighs.  _ Probably another message from Tommy, poor kid. _

He brings his communicator out to look at it.

Precious seconds pass as he stares at the message.

“...What… What-”

He turns on his heel and starts running, and nothing’s fast enough-- he’s not fast enough, the redstone isn’t fast enough, god damn it the lava is draining so fucking slowly, he should’ve made it faster--

He can see, now, into Dream’s cell, and he only sees one person staring at something hidden by the chest-high netherite wall. He only sees Dream.

The platform is all too slow, too, and he finally gets over to the other side, and he can see it before the netherite wall goes down but it’s still not going  _ fast enough- _

“Move!”

Dream’s standing here, and his fists are bloody. His gloves are torn. There’s blood specks on the sleeves of his hoodie. He’s just staring at him. “He’s gone, Sam.”

“I said,  _ move. _ ” He pushes Dream away, who catches himself on the edge of the cauldron and simply stands back and Sam kneels. “Tommy? Tommy?!”

And there’s this little blonde kid in a white-and-red shirt. He’s got blue eyes, and they’ve gone still and dim. There’s blood in his hair and on his face and dripping out of his nose and in a line coming from his mouth, and when Sam yells loud enough to hurt his own ears the kid doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t even blink. The kid was a chatterbox, a stereo with the volume knob stuck at 11, and now the speakers are broken. His shirt’s too red. There are bruises slowly forming, like his blood vessels don’t know he’s dead yet.

He whips his head around, murder in his eyes, towards Dream, who’s holding a cat. Cradling it in his arms, petting it. It’s lifeless, just like the boy. Rage bubbles up inside him like the lava outside the cell and he’s gripping his trident so tightly it hurts.

“What the fuck did you  _ do?! _ ” Sam spits.

“He killed my cat, Sam. I loved this cat. Everyone thinks he’s such a good guy, and he killed a cat just because I liked it.”

“No, I- Fucking  _ tell me. _ Tell me what you did.”

“You saw it.” Dream lays against the obsidian wall facing the lava, and his mask has lost more pieces, Sam notices, as he slides down the wall holding the cat. He pets it, and it doesn’t purr, its back doesn’t bristle at the soft touch and shake in that little way cats do when you scratch softly on the lower half of their back near their tail. “Your communicator said it. Mine did, too.” Dream takes it out and holds it up, and Sam almost curses himself for letting Dream keep the damn thing because if he didn’t he could pretend it was a glitch, it was a prank, it wasn’t a real message it was something someone sent to him and him only but it’s there on Dream’s communicator and it’s real and it’s on his communicator too and Tommy’s dead and Dream killed him and Sam let it happen and Tommy had begged him and screamed for him and pleaded and he’d stood there and told him no and now he’s dead now Tommy’s dead it’s all his fault it’s all his fault it’s

“He hit me, too. I was defending myself.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Sam says with a shaky breath. “Shut up before I kill you.”

“I still have the book. I know where it is. We can bring him back, Sam. This is fixable. But not if you kill me.”

“You. You…!” Sam bows his head. He’s right. Fuck, he’s right. This maniac is in jail and he still somehow has all the cards, or at least too goddamn many of them. Wilbur and Tommy--if anyone’s ever going to see them again, it’s going to be because Dream allows it to happen.

He puts the trident on his back and leans down to Tommy. “Don’t try anything. Don’t try anything, I swear to God, or I’ll-”

“I won’t try anything, I promise. C’mon, Sam. I’m mourning, too.”

Sam bites his tongue and slides his hands under the body, then stops- Tommy’s gaze is still dim, his eyes are still open, and-

Sam gently places his hands over Tommy’s face and closes the boy’s eyes, then goes back to picking him up, one arm under his legs and one arm under his back- but when the boy’s head lolls back, it’s almost too much for Sam to take, so he moves his arm under his head and leans the boy against him, his head resting on Sam’s shoulder like he’s sleeping, and Sam wishes he’d done this earlier. Back in exile, he shouldn’t have just looked at the kid and left him there, tired and hurt and sad. He should have picked him up just like this, no matter how much Tommy would’ve spat at him for it because he insisted he was a big man, because Sam knew that beneath all of that was a kid with fear and exhaustion set into his bones, and the profanity and the frustration would have been a cover for a thank you. Sam should’ve taken him somewhere else, just like this, the tired kid that everyone had left in exile with  _ Dream _ of all people.

“Come on, Tommy,” he hears someone say, and he’s on the platform and halfway across the lava pit before he realizes it was him. He lays Tommy down gently as he goes to activate the rest of the security procedures. That slow lava curtain falls and Sam just watches it drip with all the speed of molasses, and Dream’s still against the wall petting the cat.

“I’m not going to let him hurt you ever again, Tommy. He’s not going to hurt you ever again.”

The boy is silent.

“I’m so sorry.” The lava curtain covers the wall, and Sam can’t look the kid in the face. “I didn’t think he’d actually do it.”

He picks Tommy up again, and carries him as he walks down the corridor. Where the hell does he take him? What the hell does he do?

“God. I have to tell your friends, Tommy. I- I have to tell your friends.”

* * *

Tubbo’s kneeling on the floor, laying down terracotta. It’s vibrant, beautiful, yellow like a bee, and Ranboo wishes it cheered him up at all. Instead, it feels morbid. It’s not the right shade of yellow for a bee, Ranboo thinks. It’s more like a sunflower, growing and looking up at the sun, it’s like the blonde hair of a boy whose grave that sunflower is growing near, but the sunflower doesn’t see the grave. It’s looking at the sun instead, something bright, because if it looks at the grave it might just die.

“So, uh… what stage of grief are you in now…? Uh, are  _ we _ in now.” - _ We _ , because he can’t leave Tubbo alone right now, in the hotel or in grief. He’ll be right by his side.

“Denial, still, I think.”

“You were angry earlier. You’re not done with denial?”

“I went back. Moved back a bit, y’know.” Tubbo stands up from the floor and wipes his hands on his shirt. “Don’t think I’m ready to leave denial yet. Moving along was a bit too hasty, yeah? Just gonna stay in denial for a little bit.”

“Oh. Okay.” Ranboo sighs, long and hard, because that just confirms he  _ has _ left Tubbo behind. He really wants to stay, and he swears he’s still got his foot in the door, because Tommy can’t really be dead, right? But the longer he thinks about it, the worse he feels, and the more this small cramped room starts to feel unfitting and confusing and too hot and too cold. He can’t stay in the room called denial anymore. He hopes Tubbo can stay there longer, because it’s a short reprieve before whatever stage happens next. He’ll wait outside the door for him, he thinks, drawing his foot out and shutting the black door behind him. Sam wasn’t acting. Sure, he’d acted before, he’d done terrible pranks, like taking Michael and telling Tubbo and Ranboo he’d accidentally killed him, but this… Ranboo could hear it in his voice. There wasn’t quiet amusement. It wasn’t a game being played, it was just a man trying to tell them he was too late. It was a man describing how Dream beat Tommy to death. It was a man who’d seen a dead boy.

“Hey, big man- what do you think we should put over here? Maybe a different color of terracotta? Black, to go with the yellow? Like a bee?”

Ranboo wants to tell him that the yellow is from a sunflower, not a bee, and that black would be like obsidian, like the prison, but he doesn’t. He’s waiting outside the door.

“Yeah, I think that would be nice.”

* * *

Tommy’s dead. He’s won. Jack’s won, and he’s not got a damn thing to show for it. Of course, he  _ does _ have something to show for it, that giant hotel, but it  _ started _ with that dumb kid, just like everything else.

He’d felt his heart in his throat when he’d asked Tubbo if he was okay, and what he saw was fucking scary. He didn’t see a broken kid, he didn’t see anger, he saw a blank look staring back at him like nothing had just happened and he hadn’t been told his best friend was murdered. He’d hated the kid all along, Jack had, but Tubbo hadn’t, and sure, Jack could be an asshole sometimes, but he wasn’t  _ heartless. _ He knew how close the kids were, and right now he didn’t even feel like he was looking at the right person. He had imagined how Tubbo would react when Jack had finally gotten rid of that little bugger, Jack remembered now. He’d pictured the kid crying his eyes out, which would have been confirmation Jack had done it, Tommy was gone, and Jack had won. It would’ve been proof. Now the only proof he’s got is a big old building that doesn’t even have Tommy’s name on it anymore.

His eyes dart over to Ranboo, and he knows he sees it, too.

They’ve walked off now, and Jack’s walked back to the hotel. His hotel.

It wasn’t even him that had won. He’d assumed that’s all there was, winning and losing, but this wasn’t a win. Jack had taken over a hotel. Tommy didn’t even know Jack had done it, did he? Something about that stung. The kid wasn’t burning in lava, or dead under Jack’s sword, or caught in an explosion Jack had masterminded. This wasn’t the  _ plan _ .

Jack sits down in the lobby. This wasn’t the plan.

He taps his foot a few times before he lets his leg rest. Now he’s not sure he ever knew what the plan was.

* * *

Techno must have told Ranboo beforehand, and asked the kid to use his Enderman powers. Cake-filled plates had covered the entire table, and Phil had laughed when he’d seen it.

“ _ Fuck _ , mate. I can’t eat all of this!” Phil had shaken his head, grinning. “How the hell-? Ranboo did this? It’s all going to rot before we can eat even half of it.”

“That sounds like givin’ up, Phil,” Techno had responded. “Maybe you really  _ are _ old. Scared of a table of cake. Cringe.”

Phil had chuckled at that, the Oldza joke, because he was very much used to it by now, and sat down. “You know cake has pretty much no saturation, right? This will not be filling at  _ all _ . Just gonna make us gain weight.”

“Okay, to be fair, I kind of expected him to  _ be _ here. I thought he’d help. I didn’t think it’d just be us eatin’ all of this. Anyway, we’re in a  _ snow biome _ , so if we gotta build a fridge, I think we’ll be fine.”

He was full now, as full as you could be on cake, and Techno was arguing with “chat”. It wasn’t a bad name for the voices, he supposed, but Phil wondered if it really fit the chaos Techno would sometimes describe. Chatterbox was more like it. He wondered, as he often had, how Techno had gotten those voices. Phil’s- he’d had them for centuries on end, but despite that, they were often calm, and kind. They would warn him about things, worried for his safety. Apparently Techno’s voices mostly told him to kill things, or shouted “E” at him. Phil had to wonder who Techno’s voices were, who ‘chat’ was. He sometimes worried it was like his voices, people he’d let die, people he’d killed, countless people he’d lost through time, but Techno hadn’t been around for as long as him, and there was something  _ off _ enough about the voices that Phil doubted Techno knew any of them.

Their communicators buzz at the same time. They both look down without thinking.

“...Huh???” Techno tilts his head at his communicator. “No, chat, shut up, I can see it. What?”

“... _ Fuck. _ ” And suddenly the voices have changed, it’s not a gentle chorus of “happy birthday”, it’s not a tide of dead people still kind enough to call him their father, it’s horrified gasps and little wails. It’s shushed tones, it’s “oh no,” it’s “Dream really killed him,” it’s “oh Gods,” it’s “it wasn’t your fault.” It’s too quiet to be a cacophony, but it feels like one anyway. “Fuck, mate. What?”

“He couldn’t’a-...” Techno falls silent, before his shoulders twitch. “Chat, shut up. Stop telling me how it happened. I don’t need to know that-- Don’t fucking say you warned me, how many false alarms have you given me before? Chat.”

Phil is on the floor, for some reason. When did he fall over? Techno’s there, now. “You okay, Phil?” Techno’s wincing, and Phil knows that look, trying to tune Chat out. Techno grabs him by the shoulder and shakes him a bit. “Phil. Phil?”

“Dream’s in prison, the fuck? How did he kill Tommy? Did he get out? That wasn’t his last life, was it?” Phil says, shaking his head. “I- I don’t know how many he had. He’s got more, right?”

Techno looks away, and Phil’s heart is in his throat. “Uh, chat’s-- chat’s tellin’ me-- that was his last one. They--” His eyes lose focus and gloss over a bit. “They’re sayin’ he’s dead. Dream just beat him to death. He went to… visit Dream, in the prison...” Techno shuts his eyes tight, trying to sift through the voices for an explanation he could make coherent. “A week ago, somethin’ blew up outside it while he was visitin’, and he had to stay in there for a week… ‘Til it was fixed… It’s been a week and a day, now-- Sam wouldn’t let him out because Dream might escape, and right after Sam left, Dream killed Tommy.” Techno opens his eyes again and stares. “He’s gone. He’s- That was his last life. He’s, like, dead. Forever?”

Phil stands up, slowly. It didn’t make any sense. It never did, death, but this  _ really _ didn’t make sense. Phil had one life, one long life, and he’d known Tommy such a short time. And yes, he’d known people like him before, people whose flames had burned so goddamn bright and then gone out so quick that the new voice apologizing and the memories it was nestled in were the only things that proved the candle had ever been lit in the first place. He knew about the Final Control Room, and the duel, of course he did, but this couldn’t be it.

“I can’t fuckin’ hear him.”

“Wha?” Techno tilts his head, watching as Phil stands up, and standing up with him.

“It’s just like Wil, Techno. I can’t fuckin’ hear him. The voices are all people I knew. I knew Wil, I knew Tommy. If they’re dead, why can’t I hear him?”

There’s a silence.

“Do… do you  _ want _ to hear them?”

“I don’t know.” Maybe that would be too much. Maybe it’s what he needs, but he’s not allowed to have it. “I don’t know, mate.”

* * *

Quackity is sprinting, fucking  _ booking  _ it, and when Karl comes around the corner, Quackity’s got no time to stop. He slams into him, and they’re both on the ground, and then they’re both standing up in each other’s arms.

“Fuck- sorry, are you okay?”

“Yeah, are you? I- Did you see the message? He-”

“Dream fucking killed Tommy, dude. Like, he killed him for real. That was his last life.”

Karl’s face goes through emotions Quackity doesn’t recognize for a moment, something that’s happening more and more often these days, but eventually it settles in a place he recognizes- confusion. “What? No, he’s got like… two? He’s got two lives left, right? No way.”

“The Control Room, Dream killed him. The duel, Dream killed him. Fuck, he- he killed him all three times.” Quackity shakes his head. He knew Tommy was locked in the prison with Dream because of a security issue, he knew something was wrong, but what the hell was this? “Dude. Dude, Tommy’s dead, dude.”

Karl’s standing there, awkwardly. “I…” Suddenly, his eyes go wide as saucers. “Oh my god, where’s Sapnap?”

Quackity looks around them, and it’s a ghost town. “I- I don’t know. I was running to Kinoko, because he’s- he’s gotta be somewhere. Headed here. He’ll want to kill Dream, dude. He’s going to get himself killed trying to get into the prison. Sam’ll fucking kill him.”

“Oh my god, dude. We’ve gotta stop him. What- do you want to split up?”

Quackity feels something in his gut that he can’t really describe as he grabs Karl’s wrist. “Fuck no. Fuck no, we’re not splitting up. Come on, we’ll find him together.”

* * *

He’d already gotten off the horse. Yeah, it was faster than him alone, but he’d been hurting it by accident. He couldn’t stop it no matter how hard he tried-- The flames were curling up around his hands, and licking the sides of his arms, the fire was raging in his core, and he made sure to give anything that could be burned a wide berth as he ran, because if he didn’t, there might not be anything left.

It had never been this bad. Sure, they could be hard to control sometimes, but this was something else. He couldn’t even get the flames to shrink, much less go out, and he couldn’t concentrate on something that might never happen while he ran.

Sapnap’s shoes hit the grass one after the other, and the path of blackened footprints he’s leaving are gonna be so ugly. He silently apologizes to whoever is going to have to fix it.  _ I’m not meaning to do this. I just have to get there. Now. _

“Sapnap!”

“Sapnap, wait!”

Those are the only two voices in the entire universe that could have stopped him, and hearing them both at once makes him freeze, skidding forward, one foot forward to brace himself. Quackity and Karl are running up to him, eyes wide, and he puts his hands out.

“No, stay back! Don’t hug me, it’s-” He looks at his clothes, specially sewn and enchanted to resist heat and flame. His arms are bare, now, and the shoulders of his shirt are becoming blackened and the edges are curling up and falling away.

“Oh god.” Karl steps back for just a second before shaking his head. “Dude.”

“Holy shit, Sapnap, what the hell, man?” Quackity tilts his head, and Sapnap watches as Quackity’s remaining good eye looks him over.

“Did you guys see? Tommy? He killed Tommy, he-” Sapnap looks at the ground, and the grass is starting to burn, so he shakes his head. “River. We gotta- I’m burning shit. I can’t stop it. I gotta put this out before we can talk, guys-- I’m going to end up burning you, I--” He doesn’t wait for them to follow, because if he does they might try some dumbass shit like hugging him, so he finds the nearest lake and jumps in, and he holds his breath until he feels like the flames are gone. He wills the fire to dissipate, because he’ll need his flames later but not now, not with them around, they are the last people in the world he ever wants to burn.

He holds his breath as long as he can, then longer, because he can’t tell if the flames are gone, but he can’t risk getting out yet. He feels himself getting light-headed, but he can’t get out, not until it’s colder- the water’s warmer and maybe that’s not water, maybe it’s fire, maybe he’s burned the whole river away, so he’s got to stay here, even while the darkness encroaches, even while he’s got a job to do and a stupid masked friend to kill.

The flames shift behind him, and two pairs of hands grab him by the shoulders and arms and around the stomach, and he’s being pulled out of the fire. When he opens his eyes, the sky stares back, and the world has been moved ninety degrees, and he’s on his side, on the wet grass.

“Fuck, dude, you were in there for like, two minutes!” Quackity shakes him. “Sapnap? Sapnap!”

“Uh… Fuck, CPR?” Karl suggests, and Sapnap almost fucking laughs despite the water in his lungs that he’s coughing up and the burning in his chest in more forms than one.

“Ha- HCK! Haa-ck, argh… Fuck… Yeah, I need- ARGH- HCK-- CPR.” That’s a  _ lot  _ of water, Sapnap realizes, and it sets in that he was breathing the water in to try and douse the flames.

The flames- THE FLAMES

He suddenly jolts away from them, and checks himself- his arms are bare, not on fire-- his shoes are completely gone, wait what the fuck why’s he worried about his clothes--

“Is the fire out?! Are you okay?! Did I hurt you?!”

Karl shakes his head, eyes wide. “No, we’re fine! I- You almost drowned yourself, man! The fire went out and the river was like, boiling where you were, so we thought you were just waiting for a bit, but then it stopped boiling, and you were just, like-- lying in there, and then you just went limp, dude.”

Quackity sits down next to Sapnap and he grabs him and he hugs him and holds him tight. “You’re not burning, anymore, man, it’s okay. We’re here. You’re not hurting us.”

Karl follows suit, and then he puts a hand on Sapnap’s chest. “Yeah, man, we’ve got you.” He kisses him on the forehead, and Sapnap’s feeling light-headed again so he rests his head on Quackity’s chest.

And it’s one demon’s son and his two fiancees and they’re all drenched in water on the bank of a river.

“I have to kill him,” Sapnap manages to get out, despite the fact his lungs want him dead right now. It’s a wheeze, it’s weak, but he’s got to say it. He tries to look up, and now Quackity’s head is in Karl’s lap, and Sapnap’s using Quackity’s chest like a pillow as both of them look to him. “Guys, I- I have to get to the prison. I’ve gotta fucking kill him. I told him it would be me.”

“You just, like, drank a fucking lake to stop yourself from killing people with fire. I don’t think you can even stand up right now.” Quackity tells him, matter-of-fact.

“Stop talking, man, you’re going to hurt yourself. Worse than you already are.” Karl reaches over and runs his hand through Sapnap’s hair.

“I gotta kill him. I said it would be me.”

“You said you’d kill him if he got  _ out. _ ” Even Quackity’s dead eye still shows so much sadness.

“He killed Tommy, dude. I- He was in the cell with him. How the fuck did he kill him? Like, did he brain him with the clock? I can’t let him live. It’s gotta be me. He’s gone too far. He’s--”

“Sam’s the warden, dude. He’s going to keep Dream locked inside because of that shit with the resurrection book. He’s not going to let you kill him.” As Quackity speaks, Karl listens, and his eyebrows go up in that familiar way, like he’s learning new information. “Sam’s not our enemy, but he’s going to kill you if you try to fight him. You’re the best fighter I’ve ever fucking seen, dude, but you can’t take him right now.”

“Together, we could-” He winces. No, he can’t do that, can’t make them fight Sam, because they could get hurt. He doesn’t want to fight Sam, anyway. Isn’t there a way he could get in? Get to Dream? He’s got to stop him. “No, we can’t, but… But, we can’t just leave him in there after that! Not  _ alive! _ ”

He looks at the sky, and it’s almost an insult that it still looks the way it did back when the idea of Dream’s blood on his hands was from a stupid dangerous game they played for fun, and not a hunger gnawing away at him from the inside.

Everything’s still, and quiet, and Sapnap knows that if he tries to get to Dream, it’s not gonna work.

“If the old Dream could see him, I think he’d want me to kill him,” Sapnap confesses. “He’s- I know he’s still Dream, but it’s wrong, now. The guy we knew wouldn’t make a fucking prison to lock a kid in. We wouldn’t have to lock him in his own vault. He wouldn’t kill a kid.”

“It’s not your job, man.” Quackity’s voice is a lot more quiet than usual. “You’re not responsible for him.”

Sapnap just shuts his eyes hard, and tears run down his face, and they’re the only thing that’s actually felt like water all day. He’s tired, he realizes, because he ran so far, and he was on fire, and he’s thirsty and hungry and his lungs still burn from the water.

_ Tommy wasn’t the only person that Dream killed in that cell, _ he thinks, before his eyelids grow heavy and he lets himself sleep.  _ I think my friend died in there. Or maybe he died before… Or... _

* * *

He’s lying there on a bed in the medical office now. Sam can’t look at him. He’s in his own room that he made into a living space so he could keep a better watch over Dream, and he sees the silly little ears on his desk.

_ I think Sam Nook’s dead, _ he whispers in his mind.  _ It’s my fault. I couldn’t get there in time. God, I should have let him out. What the fuck have I done? _

And he hears it. He hears it, and the periphery of his vision goes red, and he collapses to the floor, shaking. “No.” His trident clatters to the ground, and his fist hits the floor. “No, no, no. Get out of my head. Get out of my fucking head. Not now.”

**I can give you anything you want.**

“Stop.  _ Please _ . Shut up. I’m not dealing with you right now. Stay out. I got you out of my head.”

**You’ve forgotten already? The time we spent together? When I talked to you?**

“I didn’t forget, I’ve still got the chunks missing from my arm- I’m not doing this. Leave me alone, get OUT of my head-”

**It was your fault. Now the boy is dead.**

“Aren’t you happy? Isn’t that what you wanted? You couldn’t mess with him, so you wanted him dead, right? You… you…”

**I can give you whatever you want. I can give you the boy back. Come to me, protect me, help me, and I’ll fix this. I’ll help you.**

“Stop… Stop…”

**Don’t you want him back? I can bring him back to you. I can save him for you. I just need you to help me.**

Sam’s clawing at his head. “Please… Please.” He can feel blood at the ends of his fingertips. He tries to look at his hand and all he sees is red. Crimson. Like Dream’s fists, like Tommy’s shirt, like the vines in Sam’s office that had been there for so long that he must have forgotten about them, when did those  _ get _ there? “Please. Please.”

Please... what? What was he asking for? He’d forgotten. There was one thing, though- one thing so important he must have been asking for it.

“Please,” he gasps, and he doesn’t know why it’s so hard to breathe right now. “Please help me.”

* * *

The cat’s getting cold. Dream holds it to him to warm it back up, even though that’s not going to work.

“Sorry,” he says to it. “I fucked up and you paid the price. I told myself, you know? I said I cut all my connections and my attachments. Because they could be used against me. And I thought it felt good, but then I missed that feeling. Like, caring about something, you know?” And the cat doesn’t know, obviously, because it’s dead.

“I mean, I’m not the one who killed you, but it was still kinda me. If I’d just not cared, right? If I’d kept my one rule, and not gotten attached, you might still be alive. I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry, little guy.”

He looks up at the blood spatter against the wall and on the floor, then looks down at his hands.

“Yeah… I think I really am. I’m sorry.”

* * *

The cat is curled up in his arms. He’s somehow managed to calm it down from the fear-stricken state it was in when it crossed over. Now Wilbur holds it as he watches Dream and Tommy argue.

“He said he doesn’t like the person he is when he’s around Dream,” Wilbur says aloud. “I…” He looks down at the cat. “I’m not sure I like the person he is around Dream, either.”

There’s silence, and Wilbur wonders if he’s alone, before a gruff voice breaks the silence and Schlatt phases through the wall.

“Yeah, I, uh. I can’t believe he killed a fuckin’ cat, man.” Schlatt looks back to the wall, then frowns. “Sam’s doing nothing, as per fucking usual. Trying to figure out what to do about the  _ security issue _ .” He repeats the phrase in an exaggerated whiny voice, and Wilbur can sense that Schlatt is as tired of hearing it as he is. “Oh, great, they’re talking about the book now.”

Tommy hits Dream, and Dream hits him back, and then hits him more, and he kicks him, and throws him against the wall, and hits him again, and Wilbur wishes it wasn’t an old sight.

“Schlatt is dead, I’ve been to his grave! Seen his corpse!” It probably sounds louder in Tommy’s head, but outside of it, it’s quiet, it’s a rasped, scared voice barely above a whisper. He’s leaning against the wall, and he’s  _ covered _ in blood, and in the silence, there’s the  _ plip, plip _ of blood dripping off of his nose onto the floor.

“Okay. Why don’t you go see him in person.” Dream pulls his fist back and brings it forward with fatal swiftness, and it strikes Tommy in the head and Tommy’s head meets the obsidian wall with a  _ crack _ .

Tommy crumples to the floor and goes limp, and Dream stands over him and flinches for a second, leaning over Tommy, before his communicator beeps.

And Wilbur can feel it. He could feel it the whole time, the way the afterlife was preparing for the kid, but this has happened once before, and Tommy was alright after that. Now, though, Wilbur can feel it throughout his entire spirit and deep in his soul. There’s nothing left of Tommy in that body on the ground.

“...Oh,  _ shit _ .” Schlatt says, and the cat jumps out of Wilbur’s hands and runs off.

“What? No. No, no, no. No, no- No!” Wilbur steps forward, and Dream’s still just standing there like a statue, staring at Tommy. “No, no, no-”

_ “See you soon, Wilbur.” _

_ “See you soon.” _

“That’s not what I meant, this isn’t what I meant!” Ghosts can absolutely still cry, he’s found this out again and again by now, and Wilbur’s words come out in a sob. “I meant I’d see you again  _ alive! _ This isn’t what I  _ meant _ , what the hell…”

“...Hey, big man.”

Wilbur can’t look. He can’t look at him, because he’s not there. This is a nightmare.

“That’s a pretty fucking bad way to go, kid.” Schlatt says with a sigh.

There’s a hand on Wilbur’s shoulder, and it’s cold.

“Wilbur. Come on.”

“No. No. No.”

“Wil.”

Wil looks up, and that’s him. He’s still got blood on his face. He’s see-through. He looks tired.

Wilbur stands up and he crushes him in a hug, or at least he tries to, because it’s hard when you’re a ghost, and now both of you are ghosts.

“I’m sorry, Tommy. I’m so sorry. I’m  _ so _ sorry.” Tommy kept Dream alive for  _ him. _ To bring him back. And it’s killed him. It might as well have been Wilbur.

_ Oh, god, Phil, I’ve really gone and done it now. I killed him, Phil. I killed my little brother. _

* * *

It’s a hug like he remembers, and that’s calming. It’s warm, which is weird, because you’d think being dead would make it all cold. And it sort of is? It’s hard to put his finger on it. Doesn’t really matter, Tommy supposes.

The cat’s staring at him.

“Oh, that cat’s pissed, Tommy.” Schlatt says flatly. “It’s gonna kill you a fourth time.”

“I guess I kinda deserve that, huh,” Tommy chuckles. “Wasn’t its fault that Dream liked it. That was kinda fucked up.”

“Shut up, man, I’m not gonna let anything hurt you.” Wilbur pulls away and runs his hand through his hair. “Oh my god. I can’t believe this. You can’t be dead.”

Tommy shakes his head, and looks to his right, and there it is. There  _ he _ is. Dead on the ground. Sam’s picking him up now, and leaving with him, cradling him like a kid taking a nap.

“I, uh… I don’t think there’s anything to be done for it, now. But, uh. I guess we just wait, huh? See what happens next.”

Schlatt shrugs. “That’s pretty much all there is to do around here. Watch things go down like some kinda soap opera.”

Wilbur sniffles. “Tommy, this… This wasn’t meant to happen. We… You… This can’t be how you die.”

“Wil, come on, man. You know it as well as I do.” He looks at him with blue, ghostly eyes.

“It was never meant to be.”

**Author's Note:**

> after today i sat down for several hours and wrote this all in one sitting! help  
> twitter: jothsappho  
> tumblr: claymorejunkie


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